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Rated: E · Appendix · Nature · #871048
A terzanelle for the summer slam semi-finals, round 2.
I sleep across the sand and silt beneath an elder willow
where weeping streams cross rivers, dipping sullen into waiting seas
and oftentimes I serve as bed to greens that softly bow and billow

All around, in every distance, there’s a hundred million “me”s
and it stills my soul of stone to know I live within this mirror
where weeping streams cross rivers, dipping sullen into waiting seas

Wraithlike waters wash and smooth my face into a horror
till polished, I reflect the sky’s own burning pebble sun
but it stills my soul of stone to know I live within this mirror

Where once a glacier pushed its way around with everyone
the waters weave their ghostly ways to whisper in the night
till polished, I reflect the sky’s own burning pebble son

My rounded form is solid but I’m tiny now, and lifted, light;
I’m taken gentle inches by the current to a trance that never ends
where waters weave their ghostly ways to whisper in the night

Here the stream becomes a river; here the river, curving, bends
and whatever came before me now is mud to form my pillow
I’m taken gentle inches by the current to a trance that never ends
and oftentimes I serve as bed to greens that softly bow and billow
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